Ghosts of Christmas Presents
by Simon920
Summary: Dick has some trouble with his Christmas shopping.


Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

With apologies to Charlene who will rightly gag at the legal liberties I've taken here.

**Ghosts of Christmas Presents**

It was the same every year and after almost a decade Dick Grayson still didn't have a handle on what to do about it. He'd wrack his brain, agonize for weeks, beg for hints from anyone who might have a clue and usually, as they say, be found wanting.

This year would be different. He was determined. It would. This year he'd start early, really give it a lot of thought and come up with something that was so perfect, something so well-conceived that no one could even think of suggesting otherwise. He would. It was like a challenge he was going to face head on and get the best of. He would; just watch him.

Not that anyone would have the gall, the bad manners, the lack of couth to suggest that sometimes his ideas were a little, well, well intentioned, certainly, but maybe not exactly the best concepts ever hatched upon the world. And it wasn't like he didn't try. He did, he really did. He knew that it was important and beyond that he wanted to come up with something wonderful, memorable and absolutely perfect. He did. It mattered to him.

It mattered to him not so much because of the fact of an actual present, but because of what the gift represented. Alfred had done everything for him since he'd arrived at Wayne Manor and he was deeply grateful for that, he was more grateful than he could hope to express—which didn't mean that Dick didn't want to let Alf know how he felt.

Okay, when he was younger he could be excused and he knew that. He was just a kid and he didn't have an inkling about the realties of the world he'd been sort of adopted into. He was a poor kid, his parents pretty much lived from paycheck to paycheck and they spent most of the year living in a trailer the size of a pickup truck. His material possessions consisted of a couple pairs of worn jeans, maybe half a dozen tee shirts and a hoodie. Oh, and a pair of sneakers. That was pretty much it and that was all he really needed, aside from his two costumes. Now he was in a fifty-three-room mansion sitting on over five hundred acres and things had, well, things had changed.

Most people thought that Bruce would be the hard one to choose a present for but actually he wasn't that hard because he already had everything he could possibly want. This meant there were only two ways to go with it; you went to some fancy place like Tiffany's or something and pointed at something. It didn't matter what. Alternately you could go the touching, home made route and give him a picture painted in art class or a home made birdhouse or something. Either route was fine and Dick has used them both for years. All right, the home made thing didn't work all that well anymore since he was a senior in high school, but he could always whip out a platinum credit card at Brooks Brothers or Turnbull and Asher or wherever. Bruce was easy.

Alfred—he was the hard one. First of all, he pretty much had everything he needed or wanted—Bruce saw to that. Secondly, he seemed to genuinely believe that Dick had no obligation to get him, or any 'servant' anything at all and that it was unseemly for him to do so. So what to do?

There was nothing, absolutely nothing that Alfred really needed. There wasn't a single book, painting, piece of jewelry, clothing or furniture he lacked for. He had the use of any car in the twenty-car garage. He had access to the Wayne fleet of planes and jets and the run of any of Bruce's vacation homes. He could, and did, walk into any of the finest restaurants in the city and be given the best table because it was known how important he was to Mr. Wayne. He was constantly being offered jobs from the White House to the most exclusive society homes in the Western Hemisphere. He lacked for nothing.

But this year Dick finally had an inspiration a couple of months before the holiday. Calling Lucius Fox and swearing him to secrecy, he set his idea in motion.

Christmas morning was the same as it always was in the Manor. There was a huge twenty-foot tree professionally decorated in the main entranceway to impress the party guests that always over ran the place for the four holiday parties Bruce always gave. Dick always ignored this tree, rolling his eyes and avoiding it as much as possible and using the back stairs when he could so he wouldn't have to even see it more than necessary. The real tree, the eight foot family tree, decorated over popcorn, home made cookies and hot chocolate with Wayne, Pennyworth and Grayson family ornaments was always set up in the bay window of the large study. This was the one that had the family presents under it and the one they gathered around Christmas morning.

This year Dick handed Bruce the box with the cashmere sweater. Next he went to the closet and pulled out the big one with the custom made golf clubs Dick knew he'd been too pre occupied to order. Finally he handed over the wrapped platinum cuff links Dick had designed himself and made up for Bruce by the workrooms over at Harry Winston.

Dick opened his own presents; the keys for the new Ninja motorcycle he'd wanted, the new snowboard for doing aerials. Last, was the new playstation no one could get a hold of because it delayed for three months into the stores—except Bruce had managed to get one anyway, along with a complete library of games.

Alfred opened the new silk robe to replace the old one he'd been wearing since Dick had been in the Manor, the hand-sewn billfold and a new derby Bruce had brought back from London. Then Dick handed over the large, heavy envelope he'd managed to get Bruce's legal department working on a few months ago, with Lucius' help and involvement, of course.

"Master Dick?"

"Just open it, okay"

Alfred looked over at Bruce who just gave a small shrug; he had no idea.

Opening the manila flap, Alfred took out the legal papers with stickies indicating where signatures were needed. He looked over at Dick in some confusion.

"I know Bruce won't adopt me, and that's okay and I understand why but there's no reason why…I mean, it's kind of hard to say this without sounding completely sappy but, um…" He paused as Alfred scanned the opening paragraphs. "I just, ah, I thought that since you can't adopt me as your grandson, you could be my father…legally, I mean. We could just kind of know you're really my grandfather." Dick stopped, terrified he'd completely misjudged, gotten it all totally wrong. "If you don't want to sign it, it's okay. Honest. It's fine; I just thought that maybe, you know…" He trailed off, nauseous, seeing the stricken expression on Alfred's face.

"God. Jesus, Alfred, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry—I just thought that maybe you'd want to…"

Alfred cut him off before he could say any more. "My boy, my _dear_ boy—as long as I live nothing has ever meant more to me than this piece of paper—nor will anything ever mean more to me than you and Master Bruce." In an unprecedented break with his training and inclinations, Alfred reached across and put his arms around Dick, hugging him tightly, holding on and extending the embrace for several long minutes while he composed himself. "You've been part of my family for years, my boy, this makes official what we've all known all along and I've not been happier in long years—I'd given up thoughts of having my own son and now, dear boy, you've put lie to my fears. You're so very dear to me and I'm forever grateful you've come to our lives." He released Dick enough so they could see one another's face. "More than you can know."

Sniffing slightly, dignified smile in place Alfred turned his head, "Master Bruce, have you a pen suitable to the occasion?" Bruce handed him a Mont Blanc from the desk, the adoption papers were signed and given place of pride on the table. "Now, other matters notwithstanding I believe we could all use a good breakfast, so if you gentlemen will excuse me."

Neither of the others stopped him, knowing Alfred needed a few minutes to deal on his own, Dick sat quietly in the large leather chair, facing but not really seeing the tree.

Bruce waited several long minutes in the silence before speaking. "Are you upset I didn't adopt you?" Why else would Dick go to the trouble of arranging this? It had to have taken months of planning to get this set. Clearly he wanted a family, legally and as solid as he could make it. Was that what this was about?

Dick didn't move, didn't look at Bruce. "I know your reasoning and it's fine. This doesn't have anything to do with you, it's between me and Alfred. He's my grandfather in every other way, I wanted to make it official."

"…I see."

"No you don't." He still didn't look at Bruce; his eyes fixed on an acrobat ornament near the middle of the tree. "I know, we both know, what we are to each other and we don't need legalities to make it any more valid. Besides, I'm sure you have that all covered anyway, right? Alfred is the one who's sort of left out—Sort of like the third wheel. I thought this would help, let him really know how much he means to me, how important he is to me." He glanced at Bruce. "It's not always about you, you know."

"You know you're my heir."

"Of course I do. That's not what I'm talking about. I know we're family and I may be the closest thing you ever have to a son. And you've been my 'father' since my parent's accident, and even if you're nothing like my real father, you're still the one I have." Dick ghosted a smile at that.

Bruce looked at Dick, really looked at him. He wasn't a child anymore. He was a junior in high school, starting to look at colleges. He was Robin, world famous and accomplished, respected by police departments and agencies around the world, esteemed and trusted by the Justice League, leader of the Teen Titans. Bruce started awkwardly, "I couldn't be prouder of any son than I am of you. I probably don't say it enough…" He stopped for a moment as Dick snorted at this. "Fine. I don't ever say it, but you've more than exceeded my hopes for you and I want you to know that." He started fiddling with the pen on the desk, rolling it clumsily between his fingers and finally dropping it on the carpet.

Dick finally looked over. "Bruce? I know you never like to talk about this kind of thing and I know it makes you uncomfortable. Let's just get breakfast, okay?" He smiled that big smile, taking the sting out of the words.

"Your grandfather would like that."

"Bruce? Don't do sentimental, okay? —You really suck at it and you're starting to scare me."

12/5/06

5


End file.
